Chuck Shurley Is a Douchebag
by fagur fiskur
Summary: Or, the one where the Sam and Dean story never happened but Chuck wrote it anyway. Oh, and just what the hell is Destiel? / AU, Dean/Cas, Sam/Ruby.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** New story! Been a while since I last posted a WIP. Over half of it is already written, so I'm hoping to keep to a weekly schedule. More tags may be added later and I may or may not change the title.

Thanks to my beta, IShipItAllAndThenSome!

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

_The door slammed shut with a thunderous rattle behind Sam as the brothers made their way down the darkened stairwell. Sam stared at his brother's back, the near palpable tension and the protectively hunched shoulders._

_"I mean, come on," Sam said, barely contained rage burning in his throat. "You can't just break in, middle of the night, and expect me to hit the road with you."_

_"You're not hearing me, Sammy," Dean said. Even without seeing his expression, Sam knew that his lips were thin and tight, brow furrowed even as he tried to keep the hurt from showing on his face. "Dad's missing. I need you to help me find him."_

_Sam followed his brother down the creaking stairs. "You remember the poltergeist in Amherst? Or the Devil's Gates in Clifton? He was missing then, too. He's always missing, and he's always fine."_

_Dean came to a halt and turned around to face Sam. Their eyes met - Sam's narrowed in rage, Dean's iiridescent with pain. Even after years of separation and all the conflicts between them, their eyes always sought each other's automatically. Before all else, they would always be brothers. "Not for this long. Now, are you gonna come with me or not?"_

_- "Supernatural", Carver Edlund_

* * *

_2007_

_Lawrence, Kansas_

It's been years since Dean talked to most of his old college buddies. He still sees Victor sometimes, and Cas is of course always around, but them aside, Dean hasn't bothered to keep in touch. He doesn't even have a Facebook account, although that's more because he's distrustful of anything new since '02.

So getting a call from Chuck Shurley wasn't exactly the last thing Dean expected, but that's only because he never expected it at all.

Dean is in the office at Dad's garage on a Monday morning changing into his coveralls when the phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket and looks at it. It's a number he doesn't recognize but that's nothing new. Dean gives his number out to plenty of people. It's probably that redhead he met at Benny's bar the other night, the one with the breathy voice who seriously reminded him of Jessica Rabbit.

"Dean, hey!" The voice is hoarse instead of breathy, and it's definitely not the Jessica Rabbit look-alike, but it does sound vaguely familiar.

"Hey," Dean says. "Who is this?"

There's a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Right, you wouldn't... it's been a few years. This is Chuck, Chuck Shurley."

It takes a couple of moments for it to click. Chuck Shurley, right. He and Dean had never exactly been friends, but they'd run together in the same circles a lot. Chuck had been Andy's roommate, and whereas Andy was stoned pretty much all the time, Chuck could always be guaranteed to have some whiskey on hand. Crappy, bottom-shelf whiskey but then, they were college students. They didn't really care about quality.

"Chuck, hey." Dean waits a couple of moments, before it becomes apparent that Chuck isn't going to talk. "Uh, how's life treating you? Doin' okay with the..." What the hell had Chuck majored in again? "... Stuff?"

"Good, it's good." Chuck doesn't sound particularly bothered by Dean's lack of knowledge. "Hey, listen. Do you remember those stories I was writing in college? You know, about the monster hunters?"

Dean doesn't.

"Yeah," he says. "How - how's that?"

"Actually, they're why I called." Chuck laughs nervously. "I'm getting them published and, uh, there are a couple of characters that may be roughly based on you and your brother."

"Cool," Dean says, because what the hell else is he supposed to say? He doesn't get why Chuck would want to be writing about him and Sam in the first place, let alone calling to let him know.

There's another lengthened period of silence on the other end. Scratch that, Dean can hear something that sounds like clinking glasses. He wonders if Chuck kept up the whiskey habit after college and, if so, how the hell his liver hasn't given out.

"I need your permission to publish," Chuck finally continues. "It seems there are just enough similarities so that you could sue me for libel if I don't have it."

"What kind of similarities?"

Chuck laughs again, sounding half-way hysterical. "Oh, you know. Just general, y'know, physical descriptions. A couple of details about your lives you told me in college."

Dean can't remember ever having told Chuck anything about his life in college. Then again, there's a lot he doesn't remember about college. It's probably nothing important. "Yeah, it's fine, I guess."

"Awesome," Chuck says. "Okay, great. I'll send you the manuscript of the first book in a couple of days and you can look through it, tell me if you want me to change anything."

Hang on, now there's reading involved? It's not that Dean doesn't like to read, he does, but he likes to pick out his reading material himself. He doesn't exactly have a whole lot of free time these days anyway, what with helping Dad run his business when Dad's too drunk or hungover to do it himself.

"I don't-"

"It's short," Chuck says quickly, sensing that he's losing Dean. "Not even a hundred pages. And it's simple prose, so it won't take you long to get through."

What the hell. Dean doesn't really remember Chuck all that well, but from what he does remember, he seemed like a decent enough guy. He's not gonna be the one to screw up his big shot. Besides, he doesn't actually have to read the manuscript. He can just say he did and then sign whatever it is that needs signing.

"Sure, send it."

"You won't regret this." Chuck sounds like he might cry. Dean is suddenly relieved that this is all happening over the phone. "And, if you don't mind, you could send the manuscript to Sam? I also need his permission."

"No problem."

"Awesome," Chuck says again. "Then when you're both done, I can send you the documents you need to sign."

"Sounds good."

"I really can't thank you enough, Dean."

Dean hums some vague sort of goodbye, uncomfortable with the tone of overwhelming gratitude in Chuck's voice. He hasn't even signed anything yet, doesn't even plan on reading the manuscript. He pockets his phone and finishes changing. By the time he steps out of the office, he's already put the conversation out of his mind.

* * *

Dean doesn't think about Chuck or his manuscript again for a while. Two days after the phone call, an email from Chuck pops up in his inbox, but at the time Dean is busy going over his taxes (at the last moment, as always). He doesn't even open it or forward it to Sam. Somehow, it just slips his mind.

Three weeks later, Chuck calls again.

"Dean, hey," he says, voice just slightly slurred. "Have you read the manuscript yet?"

Dean freezes. He hasn't given it a second thought since seeing Chuck's email. "Uh, yeah."

"And?"

"I, uh, liked it?" Dean realizes what Chuck's fishing after and grimaces. "It's cool, Chuck. I don't mind you using any of it."

"And Sam?"

Sam doesn't even know there's a manuscript yet. But what he doesn't know can't hurt him, right? "Sam, he - he's fine with it, too."

Chuck sighs with relief. "You have no idea how glad that makes me. I mean, my editor kept telling me that there was no way you'd be okay with it."

For the first time, Dean wonders just what the hell about him was so interesting that Chuck just had to put it in his book. Wonders if he made a mistake, giving Chuck the go ahead without knowing what he was agreeing to.

But he and Chuck barely knew each other. Most of their interactions involved going to the same parties or hanging out with the same group of people, never actually speaking to each other. What few times they did, Dean was drunk off his ass and probably philosophizing about Led Zeppelin.

So whatever Chuck used for his books, it can't have been that bad, can it? Maybe he the character has green eyes or freckles or the same tattoo that Dean does. Maybe he likes Led Zeppelin and drives a '67 Chevy Impala. Whatever details Chuck wanted to use, they can't have been that personal, because Dean never told him anything personal.

Having talked himself out of panicking over this, Dean says goodbye to Chuck and hangs up. He's no sooner done so than another email from Chuck pops up in his inbox. This one, Dean opens immediately. It's the document he needs to sign, promising not to sue Chuck for libel.

And as Dean glances through it, he realizes that Sam needs to sign it too. But Dean knows his brother, there's no way he's signing that without reading the book. If he reads the book, he might take some issue with some of it (because he's a prissy little bitch), in which case, Dean's lie will be found out.

So really, it's much simpler to just forge Sam's signature and send it back to Chuck. It's not like Sam's ever gonna find out about those books, anyway. He doesn't read horror or fantasy or whatever genre it is that Chuck's monster hunter books fit into, and even if he did, it's not like he's got the time for it with his finals coming up. As far as Dean is concerned, he's doing his brother a favor.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks again to my beta, IShipItAllAndThenSome!

If you guy wanna send me writing prompts, you can do so at my tumblr (link can be found on my author's page)

* * *

**Part 2**

* * *

_2009_

_Lawrence, Kansas_

Dean and Cas haven't been roommates since college but they're rarely apart anyway. More often than not, Cas will eat dinner at Dean's place (which works out fine, because Cas hates cooking and Dean hates doing the dishes) and he'll stay until it's time to go to bed, at which point he'll walk to his apartment just a couple of blocks away from Dean's. Meanwhile, Dean tries not to think about how nice it would be if they could just skip the part where Cas leaves and go to bed together.

But he doesn't bring that up with Cas.

Instead, he keeps cooking Cas dinner, often picking recipes he knows will take a while just so he can stretch out the moments where it's just him standing by the stove and Cas leaning against the kitchen counter, talking about his day or whatever else is on his mind. Tonight, it's a meatball lasagna, and Cas is once again complaining about his dick of a boss.

Or he was complaining anyway, but as Dean goes to put the lasagna into the oven he realizes that Cas hasn't said anything in a short while.

"You okay, dude?" Dean asks, closing the oven and turning around.

"I'm fine," Cas replies absentmindedly. "I just remembered..."

Dean waits a second for Cas to continue, then prompts, "Yeah?"

"Chuck Shurley called me today."

And Dean hasn't heard the name in two years, not since his last phone conversation with the man, and even though it takes him a couple of seconds to remember why, he immediately feels on edge. "Oh?"

"He wants my permission to write me into his books as a new character." There is a note of accusation in Cas' voice as he continues, "You didn't tell me about Chuck's books."

Dean shrugs, hoping that his guilt isn't showing on his face. "I didn't tell anyone about them. I didn't think it was a big deal."

Cas hums, clearly skeptical. Dean goes to set the timer, hoping that's the end of that conversation, but Cas continues, "You've read them. What did you think?"

"You know," Dean pauses, searching for vague enough words, "they were okay, I guess. Not really my thing."

Cas frowns but he thankfully drops the topic of Chuck's books after that and goes back to complaining about his boss. In a couple of minutes, Dean allows himself to relax, and the rest of the evening passes in relative peace and quiet.

* * *

Dean doesn't see Cas again until he drops by the garage during lunch later that same week. Dean is buried under the hood of some suburban mom's minivan when he arrives, so he takes a seat to watch Dean work. It used to freak Dean out a little when Cas would just stare at him while he went about his business, but he's gotten used to it. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the attention, just a little bit.

"I've been reading Chuck's books."

Dean straightens, nearly knocking his head against the hood. He clears his throat and turns around, leaning against the car. "You have?"

"They're interesting. Not all that well written, admittedly, but the characters are engaging." Cas tilts his head. "Which makes sense, I suppose, since the main characters are basically you and your brother."

Dean's eyes widen in surprise, but thankfully Cas doesn't seem to notice. Main characters? Could Chuck not have mentioned that little fact when he was pitching the idea to Dean? Maybe if Dean had known, he would have bothered to read the damn manuscript.

Who is he kidding, of course he wouldn't have. But it's still a nasty surprise, and Dean is feeling vindictive so he's gonna go ahead and blame Chuck. He pushes the dozens of questions that have popped up in his head aside, and instead asks, "So are you gonna let him add you as a character?"

"I think so," Cas says. "I am ten books in-"

"Ten?" Dean exclaims before he can stop himself.

Cas glares at him for the interruption. "They're very short, Dean."

"Is this why you haven't been coming over for dinner this week?" Dean asks, trying not to sound as hurt as he feels. It's a stupid thing to get upset over. It's not like them having dinner together every night was anything official. Cas has never once promised to show, he just always does.

"I don't have much free time," Cas says apologetically. "I've been reading whenever I have a spare moment. I have to admit I'm invested in the story."

"Glad you're having so much fun with book me," Dean mutters.

"Engaging as you and your brother are," Castiel continues, ignoring Dean's comment, "I think the story could benefit from having more recurring characters."

"Like you."

Cas glances down, cheeks turning slightly pink. "Well, if that's where Chuck wants to take the story."

"Then go for it man." It's out before Dean can think twice. He doesn't have it in him to be anything but encouraging when Cas sounds so legitimately excited about something. It doesn't happen all that often, dude's an accountant for Christ's sake. He makes a living doing the most boring shit imaginable, so who's Dean to deny him some extra excitement in life?

Even if that extra excitement could potentially reveal his lies and the fact that he illegally signed a binding document in Sam's name. But how angry could Sam get over it? It's sort of flattering, isn't it, having books written about you? Who knows, maybe he'll be thrilled.

Or maybe Dean had better read the books first, just to make sure that they're safe for Sam to find out about.

* * *

That's the plan, anyway.

Then Dad dies.

* * *

"Served the drunken bastard right."

Dean's fist clenches around his beer bottle but he doesn't say anything. Sam is drunk himself, he doesn't mean what he's saying. It's been a long day, for both of them. At least he didn't start hurling insults at the casket while they were lowering it into the ground earlier, like Dean could tell he wanted to. Sam's always been angry with Dad, over one thing or another, and Dean was done trying to mediate between them a long time ago. Mostly, he was careful to keep out of the line of fire.

But there's still that nagging feeling that he's failing them somehow by keeping quiet, even now that Dad's gone. Maybe especially now - Sam's blaming Dad for dying, but it was just as much Dean's fault. He's the one who didn't bother to hide the keys to the Impala, even if he knew Dad had been drinking.

Dean takes a sip of his beer, trying to drown out the guilt. It's useless but he tries anyway. So this is why Dad drank after Mom died in the fire, he thinks with a sardonic, humorless smirk.

"Are you gonna fix the Impala?"

Dean realizes that Sam is now talking to him, instead of to himself, and looks up. "I don't know. I hadn't thought about it."

He honestly hadn't. The Impala was totaled in the crash but for once in his life, Dean doesn't give a shit about her or her condition. A broken down car you can fix. A human being with a shattered pelvis and a caved in skull, not so much.

"You should." Sam's staring at him, eyes wide and earnest, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. "She's yours, now. You should take care of her, she didn't deserve what happened."

"I'll think about it."

Sam nods, satisfied with that answer, and goes to drain his beer. When he finds the bottle empty, he staggers on his feet to get another from the fridge. Dean watches him stumble across the living room floor, and he isn't sure how to feel. It's been a while since Sam visited, not since the summer before last. It should make him happy, getting to see his brother again, but he's not capable of that right now. He feels like he never will be again, although he knows that's bullshit. It's the same thing he went through when Mom died sixteen years ago.

Sam comes back with two bottles of beer in hand and sits down on the couch, slouching like the teenager Dean still occasionally thinks of him as. "How long do you want me to stay?"

Sam hands him one of the bottles, which Dean readily accepts. "What, you really care what I think?"

"I'm not just gonna leave you here alone to take care of Dad's shit," Sam says. At least he didn't say anything about Dean needing emotional support, although Dean can just tell he's thinking it. "I can stay 'til August, if you want me to."

"Then you'll miss graduation," Dean points out.

Sam shrugs, picking at the label on his beer bottle. "Unless I leave in, like, a week, I'll miss taking the bar exam and then I can't graduate, anyway. I can always do it next year."

"You're not gonna skip out on your finals," Dean tells him angrily.

"I'm an adult, you can't tell me what to do."

Dean snorts. "Like hell I can't."

"I'm staying," Sam insists.

"No, you're not," Dean says. "You're gonna go back to Stanford and you're gonna pass that bar and become a lawyer." He shrugs. "I mean, you're gonna come back for good once you graduate, right? So a couple of weeks away don't matter that much."

Sam gets a pained expression on his face. "Dean..."

He doesn't need to continue. Dean gets it, with a sudden and painful clarity. Sam's not gonna be coming back for good. He's going to stay in California.

And why shouldn't he? He's lived in Stanford for the last seven years, with his girlfriend, Ruby, for the last three. He's made a life for himself there. What the hell has he got here to come back to now, besides Dean?

"Well," Dean says, and it's almost physically painful to get the words out, "you're gonna go back to Stanford next week anyway. Dad wouldn't have wanted you to put off graduating over this."

He's not sure if he's won the argument or not, but Sam shuts up, eyes glued on his bottle as he slowly picks away the label.

* * *

Sam leaves five days later. Dean drives him to the airport in Bobby's truck, since the Impala is still out of commission. He's going to fix her, he decides then. He can't lose both Dad and the Impala in one fell swoop. Besides, it will give him something to do once the dust settles.

When he returns from the airport, Cas is waiting for him on the living room couch.

After he's taken one look at Dean, he asks, "When did you last sleep?"

Dean shrugs off his jacket. "Last night."

"For how long?"

"I dunno." Dean keeps his eyes fixed on the floor. Cas is staring at him in that same fixed, intense way he always does but right now, it's making Dean feel strangely vulnerable. "A couple of hours?"

Dean doesn't notice that Cas has gotten up until he grabs his hand and gently tugs at it. "You should go to bed."

"You gonna come with me?" Dean jokes but it sounds weak, even in his own ears. He finally looks up and Cas is still staring at him, brows furrowed.

"If that's what you want," he says slowly.

A couple of weeks ago, that offer would have had Dean jumping to accept. Hell, even last night there might have been a twitch of excitement, but after saying goodbye to Sam Dean feels hollowed out. He's also self-aware enough to recognize Cas' offer for what it is: pity, pure and simple.

But the last thing Dean wants right now is to be alone, so he nods. It's enough for Cas, who leads him to the bedroom. He sits Dean down on the bed and kneels down to remove his shoes. It makes Dean feel like a little kid but screw it. It's nice to be taken care of every once in a while.

Once Cas is done removing Dean's shoes, he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

"You don't need to do this," Dean mutters but he doesn't lift a finger to stop him.

Cas hums, sliding Dean' shirt from his shoulders. "I know. But I want to."

Dean shuts up after that. Cas finishes undressing Dean, then himself, until they're both down to just boxers.

"Lie down," he says quietly.

Dean obeys, slipping under the covers. Cas gets in behind him, arm snaking around Dean's waist and pulling him close. They're pressed together from head to toe, Cas' nose nuzzling against the back of Dean's neck and his hand splayed across his stomach, but it feels weirdly non-sexual. Mostly, Dean is overcome with a kind of warmth and security, the kind he's always associated with being in Cas' presence but a thousand times stronger. Bit by bit, he feels the tension leave his body, until he's finally relaxed enough to slip into unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Un-beta'd. I'll post the beta'd version as soon as I can.

If you guys wanna send me writing prompts, you can do so at my tumblr (link can be found on my author's page)

* * *

**Part 3**

* * *

_2012_

_Lawrence, Kansas_

It's been a long, difficult day of work at the garage. Pretty much all Dean wants to do is to go home and wash of the grime in the shower before crawling into bed but his fridge is almost empty and his stomach is growling. Reluctantly, he drives past his street and continues for a few blocks until he reaches the local supermarket. Finding a parking space is difficult - most of the free ones are too narrow to squeeze the Impala into - and when Dean enters the store, it's crowded and noisy. He rubs at his forehead with one hand and goes to grab a shopping cart with the other. He can feel the stress headache coming.

Dean moves quickly through the store. He grabs himself some milk and cheese, cereal, eggs, beef and, after brief hesitation, a six-pack of beer. He doesn't slow down until he reaches the vegetable isle. The eggplants catch his eye, and he reaches out to pick one up. He doesn't care about eggplants one way or another, but Cas loves them. Maybe he'd better buy a couple for tonight's dinner, just in case...

Dean scoffs, not even bothering to finish that train of thought. Of course Cas isn't going to show. He hasn't shown for dinner since Wednesday two weeks ago.

Not since he met _Daphne_.

Daphne is a friend of a coworker of Cas', who just felt that Cas absolutely _needed_ to be set up on a blind date. Dean laughed at the time, but he helped Cas prepare for what was undoubtedly going to be an awkward and sucky date.

Only it wasn't. Three days after the date with no word from Cas, Dean called him to hear how it went. Instead of Cas complaining about the date and how he hated having to socialize with strangers like Dean had expected, he told Dean that he had another date with Daphne that evening.

Who the hell schedules two dates with the same person in one week?

Dean hates, hates how jealous he is of that woman. Cas is his friend, isn't he? He should be happy that his friend is happy. Cas hasn't been on a proper date in years, always too busy with work and, well, Dean.

It isn't even that Dean is jealous because Cas is sleeping with someone else (although that's definitely part of it). It's that he's spending time with someone else.

He _should_ be happy for Cas. Maybe some small part of him is, but most of him wishes that things could go back to the way they were, with just the two of them and the occasional meaningless hookup. Dean didn't mind that they were just friends, even if he was hopelessly gone for Cas, because at least he was the most important person in Cas' life. But apparently that isn't the case anymore.

A small kid runs past Dean, bumping into him and shaking him from his thoughts. He looks at the eggplant still in his hand and puts it back down. Like hell is he gonna buy food for Cas that's gonna be rotten by the time he finally deigns to visit.

* * *

He ends up buying the damn eggplant. Cas doesn't show up for dinner – of course he doesn't – and Dean considers just throwing it out, but one of the side-effects of growing up with not very much is that you never willingly throw away food.

It's just as well that he doesn't throw it out, because Cas shows up the night after that.

Dean is standing by the kitchen counter, back turned to the door and radio blasting, so he doesn't notice Cas letting himself into the apartment until he feels the tap on his shoulder. He jumps around, the spoon he'd just been using to stir stew raised in defense.

"Hello, Dean," Cas says, lowering his hand a little awkwardly. "I take it you didn't hear me come in?"

Dean goes to turn down the volume on the radio, heart still beating wildly in his chest. "What are you doing here?"

Cas looks taken aback at the question and for one moment, Dean feels guilty. Then he reminds himself that he shouldn't feel guilty, not when Cas is the one who stopped showing for dinner. How can he expect to just come waltzing in, like he hasn't been ditching Dean for his new girlfriend for the past two weeks?

"I didn't expect you," he adds. "You should have called ahead."

"I tried," Cas says. "You didn't answer, so I left you a voicemail."

"Oh." Dean clears his throat. "Well, I haven't listened to it."

"I suspected as much. But I figured that since you've never had any problems with me showing up unannounced in the past-"

"That was before," Dean snaps. He immediately regrets it and turns back to the stew, so Cas can't see the look on his face. He doesn't like how vulnerable he is around Cas; less than five minutes since the guy showed, and already he's spilling his insecurities.

"Before what?"

Dean opens his mouth but he realizes that there is nothing he can say that won't make him sound like a jealous ex. _Before you got a new girlfriend? Before you decided that she was more important than me?_ "Before you stopped showing for two weeks," he finally settles on, even if it sounds a lot more trivial than he would have liked.

"I apologize for that," Cas says. "I… may have forgotten myself. It's been a while since I was last in a romantic relationship. I didn't mean to neglect you."

Dean laughs but it's a bitter, ugly sound. "Don't worry about me, man, I'm fine. I have friends besides you, you know?"

"I wasn't implying that you don't."

"Kind of sounded like you were." Dean knows he's being an asshole, picking a fight for the sake of it, but it's a lot easier to just get angry rather than to stop for a moment and think.

"You're being irrational, Dean."

Cas is sounding kind of pissed off now and all that does is add fuel to the fire. Where does he get off? He isn't the victim here, Dean is. He's the one who had to go and get himself a girlfriend, had to go mess with a perfectly good status quo. "Yeah? Let me go and ditch you for two weeks without a word, then show up at your apartment without a notice, see how rational you'll feel."

Cas is quiet for a couple of moments. Then he says, "You're spilling the stew."

Dean stops stirring, surprised to realize just how forceful his movements had gotten when he wasn't paying attention.

"I don't want to fight, Dean," Cas says.

Dean turns down the heat on the stove. He can feel his face still flushing from the anger but it's draining away fast, leaving him tired. "Then maybe you should leave."

He waits for the tell-tale sound of retreating steps and slamming doors, but nothing comes. He finally turns around again and Cas is still standing there, just a little too close for comfort, frowning thoughtfully.

"Are you jealous?"

Dean heart leaps in panic but he shoves it away almost as quickly as it shows, and when he speaks his voice is deceptively dismissive, "Someone's a little full of himself."

"Are you?" Cas asks again.

"No," Dean says, and it comes out a lot more forcefully than he intended. "What the hell is so great about this chick, anyway?" It's such an obvious deflection but Cas doesn't look suspicious so much as he looks irritated at the question. "What kind of things is she doing to you in bed that you completely throw away everything else-"

"Stop," Cas commands, now looking livid. "I won't have you speaking of her that way."

Dean reels, taken aback by the anger in Cas' voice. Anger directed at him, for insulting someone who was two weeks ago a stranger.

"You're behaving like a child," Cas says. "When you are ready to act like an adult, let me know."

He walks out, closing the door behind him. Dean watches him go, for once struck speechless. He glances at the counter, at the eggplant still sitting there untouched. On an impulse, he grabs it and hurls it at the door. It makes a dull thud upon impact and bounces onto the floor, leaving a small splatter of purple behind.

Dean leans back against the counter and lets out a small laugh that sounds suspiciously like a sob. Yeah, good thing he bought that eggplant after all.

* * *

It takes Dean most of the morning to get into the right mind space for work. His stomach is twisting itself in knots every time his thoughts drift to the previous evening and it's making it difficult to concentrate. He can't decide if he's pissed at Cas or contrite or _what_ but he's something.

Yeah, he knows he wasn't entirely in the right. Cas hit a sore spot when he accused him of being jealous. Even if Dean isn't entirely sure that it's just that - mainly, he doesn't like any kind of change. He doesn't like spending less time with Cas. If he's like this just two weeks into the relationship, how's it gonna be after a month? Two months? A year?

Christ, he may pull away from Dean entirely. And Dean can't say he would entirely blame him. Look how he's treating Cas' girlfriend, and he hasn't even met her yet. He and Cas have been friends for a long time but that doesn't mean they always will be. People leave all the time.

But Dean isn't quite at the stage yet where he's willing to go crawling back to Cas to apologize. He wasn't the only one who acted like an asshole last night. He probably will, in a couple of days, when his loneliness finally starts outweighing his pride, but until then he will stubbornly cling to his anger.

Or at least during his free time, he will. Right now, there's work to be done. It's almost noon by the time Dean has calmed enough to focus on the engine he's working on but once he does, it's like falling into a trance. This, at least, is easy.

He works through most of his lunch break, making up for time lost on Cas and his stupid girlfriend, only stopping when his stomach starts to growl. He straightens, ignoring the slight crick in his back, and heads into the office. When he gets there, his phone is ringing.

He picks it up, and he hates that feeling of disappointment he gets when he sees it isn't Cas who's calling, but Sam.

"Yeah?"

"Does the name Carver Edlund mean anything to you?"

Dean frowns, leaning against the desk. "Well, hello to you too."

"Just answer the question, Dean," Sam says. His voice is calm but Dean knows his brother well enough to tell when he's angry.

"No, it doesn't. What's this about, Sam?"

"How about Chuck Shurley, then?"

The blood rushes from Dean's face. "Uh…"

"Did you know about those books?" Sam demands. "I didn't, but judging by Chuck's email he sure as hell seems to think I did."

"Email?" Dean repeats weakly.

"Oh, yeah. He's inviting us to the first ever Supernatural convention in Vermilion, Ohio. Apparently his books have something of a cult following."

Dean runs a hand through his hair. What the hell is he supposed to say? I didn't think you'd ever find out about them? I only did it because sending you the manuscript would have been too much of a bother? There's nothing he can say that won't make the situation worse. It's not like he can lie and say he didn't know about the books, Chuck has a document signed by him that proves he did.

"I… didn't think they were that big a deal?"

"Not that-" Sam cuts himself off, and Dean can almost hear the yelling fit brewing. "So you read them?" Before Dean can answer, he continues, "And you didn't see anything worth objecting? Like, say, in the first fucking book in the series? Like Mom being killed in a fire in the prologue? By a demon, no less."

Dean staggers backwards until he hits the desk. He feels nauseous. Sam has to be wrong. How can Mom be in those books? And killed by a _demon_? What the hell was Chuck thinking, writing something like that?

What the hell was _Dean_ thinking, agreeing to letting it be published?

"I didn't know," he finally says. "I never read Chuck's books. I didn't think-"

"Well, that's your problem, isn't it?" Sam cuts in. "You don't think."

And then he's hung up. Dean lowers his hand and stares at his phone. He feels like he might actually throw up. Either that, or burst into tears. Neither is something he really wants to do in his place of work – or while sober – so he squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on breathing in and out until his stomach has settled somewhat.

As soon as he opens them again, he's dialing Cas' number. He'd call Sam to apologize if he wasn't sure that Sam would just hang up on him, but he can at least talk to Cas. Screw his ego, Dean can't stand the thought of the two most important people in his life being angry with him at the same time. He's just gonna have to cut this song and dance with Cas short by a couple of days.

The phone rings for what seems like ages before Cas finally picks up. "Hello, Dean."

"Hey." Dean is suddenly very aware of how shaky his voice sounds. How vulnerable. "So, Sam just called."

He ends up explaining the entire mess to Cas, from his first phone conversation with Chuck to forging Sam's signature on that document to Sam finding out. By the time he's finished, his lunch break is long over. It's a good thing he's his own boss.

There's a long silence on Cas' end of the line. When he does speak, all he says is, "Is it all right if I come over for dinner tonight?"

Dean lets out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding and nods. It's just a simple question but it feels like a massive weight has been lifted. "Yeah, of course."

"Then I will see you around six."

* * *

When Cas first shows, it's kind of awkward. Neither one of them mentions their fight, or Daphne, or Sam. They don't talk much at all, aside from deciding what to order for dinner. It's one of those rare evenings when Dean doesn't feel like cooking – usually when he's in a shitty mood, it helps, but right now he'd rather sit on the couch, head on Cas' shoulder, while they stare at the television and wait for dinner to come to them.

It's nice, and he's grateful that Cas lets him get this close even if he must still be pissed at him for what he said about Daphne. It helps ease some of the awkwardness, too, and soon Dean's feeling more relaxed than he has in days.

"I still don't understand how you kept this from Sam," Cas says suddenly. "Surely the document you signed for Chuck must have required Sam's signature as well?"

Dean cringes and sits up straighter. "Kind of, yeah." He can see Cas looking at him from the corner of his eye, eyebrow raised. "I figured it would be simpler if I just signed for the both of us."

"I am fairly certain that forging someone's signature on a legally binding document is illegal."

"In my defense," Dean says, "I used to forge Dad's signature all the time."

"The fact that you have done it repeatedly does not make it any less illegal."

"Getting off topic here." Dean sighs and reaches for the remote. He can't pay Dr. Sexy M.D. the attention it deserves right now. "You've read Chuck's books. Is there anything more in them I should know about, or is my mom being killed by a demon the worst of it?"

"Depends on how you define worst," Cas says carefully. "He has a certain… way, of capturing your and Sam's relationship with your father that I would not describe as entirely inaccurate. It really is remarkable how well he captured your whole family, considering that he only ever met you."

Dean huffs and slouches against Cas' shoulder again. "Great. That's just… I don't even remember telling him about Mom."

"He did have a habit of recording his conversations with people," Cas recalls. "He said it was a part of his," he raises one arm, the one Dean isn't currently leaning against and makes an air quote, "'process'. He recorded several conversations with me. They were why he wanted to write me into his books."

"I don't remember him recording me either," Dean says indignantly.

"Perhaps you were drunk?" Cas suggest. "At any rate, he always asked for my permission before recording me."

"Yeah, well," Dean grumbles, "he's still a douchebag."

"You shouldn't get angry at Chuck."

"The dude wrote about my dead mother being killed by some supernatural creature and published it for the world to see."

Cas jostles him lightly, clearly getting annoyed. "And whose fault is it that it got published?"

"Spare me the lecture," Dean says. "I know I messed up, okay?" He sighs. "Do you think Sam will forgive me for this?"

"I'm sure he will."

"Yeah?"

"But he might sue you first, for forging his signature."

"He wouldn't," Dean says. "Would he?"

"He's your brother," Cas says, "you would know."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Big thanks as always to my beta, IShipItAllAndThenSome!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Dean calls Sam the next day, but it goes straight to voicemail. He tries again the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that, but Sam doesn't pick up. In a fit of desperation, he calls Ruby.

Normally, he would never stoop so low as to go crawling to her. It isn't that they're enemies, so much as they love to antagonize each other. They rarely actually fight, unless it's over Sam. It's strange to think of now that they were sort-of friends in college, long before Ruby and Sam ever crossed paths.

"You really stepped in it this time," she tells Dean in greeting, like he doesn't already know.

"Can I talk to him?" Dean asks.

"You realize that if I hand him the phone, he's just going to hang up, right? He doesn't want to talk to you."

Dean grits his teeth. As much as he hates admitting any kind of weakness to Ruby, of all people, Sam is more important than his pride. "I'm at the end of my rope here."

Ruby sighs. "He's not gonna be pissed at you forever, so just give him some space." And holy crap, Dean must really be sounding pitiful if Ruby's being this nice to him. "He'll call when he feels like it, I promise. He just needs his space first."

"Thanks," Dean says grudgingly.

"You're welcome," Ruby says, sounding far too smug for Dean's comfort. "You know, I honestly don't get what Sam's so angry about. I mean, aside from the whole not knowing about those books until five minutes ago. Chuck wrote him as this big Messianic archetype. He made me into some demon corrupting Sam with drug allegories, and then he killed me off. If anyone should be pissed, it's me."

"Wait, you're in those books, too? Does Chuck ever invent his own characters?" Dean huffs as something occurs to him. "And why the hell didn't you tell Sam about this?"

"Why didn't you?" Ruby shoots back. "I didn't even know he was in Chuck's books until he did. I didn't actually read them, I just agreed to let Chuck write me into them to get him off my back. If I had known he was gonna make me into a demon, I wouldn't have let him."

Dean smirks. "What, too on the nose?"

"Very funny," Ruby says dryly. "It's not like you're any better off."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means read the damn books yourself if you're so curious. I don't have time to waste on you, you know. I've got a miserable boyfriend to comfort."

"Miserable?" Dean echoes weakly.

"Well, maybe not miserable," Ruby amends. "But definitely sulking. He doesn't like being kept in the dark."

"I know." Dean sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just… can you tell him I'm sorry?"

"Yeah," Ruby says, voice uncharacteristically soft. "No problem."

* * *

When Dean opens up his email to dig up Chuck's manuscript, the first thing he sees is a new email from Chuck, presumably inviting him to that convention Sam told him about. Dean almost deletes it without reading it out of spite, but not reading things is how he got into this mess in the first place. He puts it aside for later.

Finding the manuscript takes only a few moments. Working up the courage to open it and read it is a different thing altogether. After staring at the little 'download' icon for ten minutes, Dean gets up and grabs himself a beer.

After three beers and much internal conflict, he's opened the manuscript. His stomach swoops uncomfortably as he reads the very first words:

'_Lawrence, Kansas_

_22 years ago'_

Sam did say that mom died in the prologue, didn't he? Knowing that Chuck killed her off is one thing, he isn't sure that he can actually read about it.

No. Dean heaves a deep sigh. No more excuses. He needs to stay on target. He will get through this manuscript, no matter how painful or fucked up it gets.

* * *

He gets through the first thirty pages before giving up. In the end, it isn't the painful memories or scarily accurate portrayal of his college sort-of-a-douchebag self that does it, it's the writing.

It's just… not very good.

"I don't get it," Dean tells Cas.

Cas is supposed to be preparing for yet another date with Daphne, but since he picked up the phone when Dean called, Dean's assuming he's not interrupting.

"How could you go through ten of these in a week? Half the time, I forget I'm not reading a bodice ripper. Seriously, if I have to read about my brother and I trading 'soulful looks' one more time, I think I'm gonna throw up. How is this shit popular?"

"There's a certain market for kitschy horror," Cas says. "And it's not without its charm."

"You have terrible taste in books, dude," Dean informs him. "Just awful."

"You've only read the first book of the series, and a manuscript at that." Dean snorts. Cas is talking with that prim tone of voice he always does when he feels offended. What Dean wouldn't give to be able to see the expression on his face. "Chuck's writing improves greatly in later installments."

"I can't believe you're defending this asshole. The guy wrote me as being in love with my own brother!"

"It's brotherly affection."

"It's sick." Dean leans back in his chair, side-eyeing his laptop where Chuck's manuscript is still on display. "Can't you just tell me what the rest of it is like?"

"There are dozens of books in the series," Cas reminds him. "And I haven't had the time to read the most recent installment."

Dean waves his hand dismissively, even though he knows that Cas can't see him. "Okay, so just tell me the important stuff. Like… how does he write me? Aside from the incestuous undertones."

There's a long pause on Cas' end as he mulls the question over. "You're courageous. Self-sacrificing. You have a strong sense of humor and a quick wit, which you often utilize at inopportune moments. You would do anything for your family. In short," Cas concludes, "I would say that it is an accurate portrayal."

"Huh." Dean licks his lips absentmindedly. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"You're my favorite character, at least," Cas says, which does not make Dean blush. At all.

"Ruby made it sounds like there would be something terrible."

Cas makes a soft, noncommittal sound and Dean's eyes narrow. He knows Cas, and even over the phone he can tell when he's hiding something.

"What is it?"

"What?" Cas says, a little too quickly.

"There's something you're not telling me."

"It's nothing," Cas reassures him. "Like I told you, it is an accurate portrayal of you." Cas clears his throat. "Although I suppose it would have fit you better twelve years ago."

Dean groans. He is the first to admit that twelve years ago, he was kind of a mess. An insecure, borderline alcoholic mess. Not that he isn't still kind of a mess but he's at least gotten better at hiding it. "So what, crappy self-image and daddy issues out the wazoo?"

"It's been a long time since then," Cas says, which is as good a confirmation as any. "It isn't so terrible, is it? Everyone has their weaknesses."

"Yeah, and Chuck had mine published."

"Dean…"

Before Cas can remind him yet again of how the whole mess is his own fault, Dean sees an email notification pop up on his screen.

"Hang on," he tells Cas, thankful for the distraction.

It's from Sam.

_If you want to make it up to me, _it reads, _go to Chuck's convention_.

Dean peers at it, half-way certain that he read it wrong. Is this Sam's idea of a joke? Does he want to make Dean suffer? Not that Dean is against suffering a little bit if it will earn him Sam's forgiveness, but he really doesn't see what Sam is going to get out of it.

"I'll call you back."

Dean hangs up without waiting for an answer from Cas, which he knows he'll feel bad about later, but he doesn't feel like explaining everything right now. He needs to talk to Sam.

After one week of complete radio silence, having Sam pick up on the second ring feels like an incredible victory.

Dean opens his mouth, meaning to greet Sam, but instead he just blurts, "Why?"

"Hello to you, too," Sam says dryly. "Is this about the convention?"

"Yeah, hello," Dean mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. He's uncomfortably aware of how their last conversation went, enough so that he feels awkward to be making any demands, but he needs to make sense of Sam's email.

Luckily, Sam doesn't wait for him to ask twice. "I thought it might be fun."

Dean boggles. "_Fun_?" he repeats incredulously. "I think you've lived in Stanford for too long if that's your definition of fun."

"There's nothing wrong with Stanford," Sam says, irritated. "Whatever, off topic. Chuck promised all expenses paid, including a plane ticket for me and, I'm assuming, gas money for you."

"Wait, you're coming too?"

Dean really hates how hopeful he sounds but he can't help it. Not one hour ago, it seemed like Sam was never going to forgive him, and now he wants to meet up for the first time since last Christmas? It seems too good to be true.

Of course, meeting Sam in this case would also mean going to Chuck's convention. Surrounding himself with people who know all about his deepest insecurities and most painful memories, albeit filtered through a pulpy horror series. Hell, for all Dean knows then they know about the waitress from Tampa and Rhonda Hurley, too.

But if Sam wants to go (and God knows why), then Dean's not gonna deny him. He owes him this much.

"When is it?"


	5. Chapter 5

After the fire that killed Mom and destroyed their childhood home, Dad hit the road.

At first, he left Dean and Sam with Bobby, but as soon as the school year ended, he came back and hauled them off in his wake. They spent the next couple of months traveling, heading in no particular direction. They never stayed in the same place for too long. Dad picked up odd jobs here and there to finance their travels, although as far as Dean could tell, half the time when he claimed to be working he was actually drinking.

**A/N:** Big thanks to my beta, IShipItAllAndThenSome!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Their road trip ended when the school year started again, in a ratty little apartment Dad rented not too far away from their old home.

Two months later, they moved again, this time to Kansas City. Dad could never hold down a job for long and whenever he inevitably got fired, his solution was to head to another city. This went on for three years, until Dean, seventeen and angry and exhausted, had had enough. He drove them back to Lawrence one night with Dad passed out in the back seat and Sam riding shotgun, too anxious to sleep. Eight hours later, they were on Bobby's doorstep. They didn't leave Lawrence again after that, not until Sam moved to Stanford.

Dean's had a sort of love-hate relationship with the open road since then. Getting away from Lawrence was a blessing at the time, even if it soon became apparent that no matter how far they drove, they were never going to escape what had happened.

Dad's three year insanity wasn't Dean's only experience with the open road; back in college, he and Cas had a tradition of going on road trips in the summer, often sleeping in the Impala if their funds ran out before they made it back home. They never had any destination in mind, either, only a desire to escape and to get as much out of their meager summer vacation as possible.

For Dean, the open road is freedom and instability and heartbreak and healing.

But even he can admit that the apprehension he feels now as he steps into the Impala is a little ridiculous. Vermilion, Ohio is only twelve hours away. Then again, maybe it isn't the journey this time so much as the destination that has knotted Dean's stomach and soaked his palms.

He relaxes somewhat when he starts the engine and hears the Impala come to life. The sound of her purring never fails to soothe him.

Dean's first stop is Roman Enterprises, Kansas subsidiary. Cas is waiting for him on the curb outside when he arrives, a small duffle bag in hand. He climbs in, throwing the duffle in the backseat, and puts on his seatbelt without so much as a word of greeting to Dean.

"Hey," Dean says pointedly.

Cas turns his head, looking a little startled, like he just noticed Dean was there. "Hello."

He's looking kind of pale, actually, and his mouth is pinched. Cas' posture is usually stiff but this is something different; he's practically radiating tension.

"Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," Cas says, voice brittle. "Please, just drive."

Dean considers pressing the issue for a moment, but he decides against it. If Cas doesn't want to talk, he doesn't have to. The best thing Dean can do for him now is pretend like everything is normal.

That turns out to be surprisingly easy. Maybe it's the familiar setting of the Impala surrounding them and the road stretching out before them. Maybe it's Deep Purple blaring from the speakers. Maybe it's just the fact that neither of them needs to be back at work until next Tuesday. Either way, pretty soon they're both relaxed, laughing and joking and, in Dean's case, singing along loud and off-key to Smoke on the Water.

* * *

They drive for a few hours without incident, not stopping until they've passed through St. Louis. By then it's getting dark, and Cas is starting to nod off, head lolling to the side and occasionally knocking against the window. Dean's eyelids start feeling heavy, and he decides it's time to stop for the night.

He pulls up at a ratty-looking roadside motel. He's stayed in a few of those in his time, admittedly none recently, and he's relatively sure that despite the chipping paint on the walls, this one won't have cockroaches or weird stains on the mattresses. He goes in to order a room for the night, Cas trailing behind him, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

The clerk is a middle-aged woman who looks them over with disinterested eyes as they enter. "Let me guess," she yawns. "One king?"

"What?" Dean splutters. "No!"

"You don't need to sound so insulted," Cas mutters.

"Two queens," Dean says, ignoring him. "Just for tonight."

The clerk's expression doesn't change but Dean can feel her silent judgment all the same as she accepts his credit card. Much to his annoyance, he can feel his face grow red. Her assumption cut too close for comfort, and Cas' indignation didn't exactly help.

"Enjoy your stay," the clerk says dryly, handing Dean the keys.

"Thank you," Cas replies for the both of them.

Their room is on the second floor, which Dean remembers always made Dad happy (or as close to happy as Dad ever got back then) because it meant less of a chance of their room getting broken into and all their stuff stolen.

They go back to the car for their stuff, Dean carefully avoiding looking Cas in the eyes as they both reach into the backseat. He's still a little warm in the face, his insides still twisting nervously. This isn't the first time some stranger assumed he and Cas were a thing and it probably won't be the last, but it never fails to make his heart seize. There's always that part of him that wonders: am I this obvious? Has Cas picked up on it? Will he now?

But then the panic fades, and Dean is left in a foul mood. Because the clerk was wrong. Cas is there same as always, just out of reach. Dean resents him for it sometimes, just a little, but even he can tell that it's not fair. It isn't Cas' fault that he's in love with him, and he's got absolutely on obligation - or reason, really - to love Dean back.

All the rational thinking in the world doesn't make Dean feel any better, though, and even though he knows he's got to get up early in the morning he can't stand the thought of going to sleep with all this anger and resentment building up inside him. What he needs right now is a distraction.

"I'm gonna head out," he tells Cas as soon as they've put down their bags by their beds.

"Now?" Cas asks, frowning.

Dean shrugs and grins lewdly. It comes easy, even if it feels a little strained. "Sure. We're only here for the night. Gotta see the sights while I can. Get the lay of the land."

Cas' eyes narrow in confusion, and leave to him to not get the hint. "What sights are there to see?"

"Bars," Dean grins. "Pubs. Night clubs, even. And the locals, of course."

"Of course," Cas repeats flatly.

Dean figures that's that and goes to root through his duffle for a change of clothes. He never really puts that much effort into looking good but a slightly tighter-fitting shirt never hurt his chances, even though his midriff is starting to look a little less defined.

"I'm coming with you."

Dean raises his head, startled. "What?"

"I want to see the sights as well," Cas says, nodding decisively.

Which… It isn't exactly that Dean doesn't want to go out drinking with Cas – it's been while since they did something like that – but it's not what he needs right now. Taking Cas with him when picking up girls (or the occasional guy) has never worked out. "Dude, you were ready to pass out five minutes ago."

"I'm fine."

Dean huffs. "I'm just going out for a drink or two. You're not gonna be missing much."

"Do you not want me there?" Cas asks softly.

"That's not…" Dean trails off, the words catching in his throat. As much as he hates it sometimes, he's never been able to deny Cas a damn thing. Not when he looks at him like that, eyes all wide and earnest and puppy-sad. "Of course I do, Cas."

"Good." Cas' lips quirk in a small grin, and Dean can't even bring himself to regret his words. "Then I will join you."

So much for distractions.

* * *

An hour, four bottles of beer, and two shots of whiskey later, Dean's forgotten what he ever needed the distraction for. He can't imagine anything better than this: sitting in the corner booth at some bar he can't remember the name of, with Cas sitting so close that he's practically on Dean's lap. Cas has always had issues with the concept of personal space and Dean's never been one to complain about it.

His moods sours when Cas asks, "Have you tried reading Chuck's books again?"

"Why should I?" Dean scoffs.

Cas shrugs. "Curiosity? So that you may be better prepared to face the fans tomorrow?"

"You don't think there will be many of them, do you?" Dean asks. He can't imagine anyone liking Chuck's stupid books but then, maybe he's biased. If they're popular enough to get a convention, surely there must be some fans.

"I just hope there won't be any discussion of the latest book," Cas says, blowing right past Dean's disparaging comment. "I still haven't had the chance to read it."

"Didn't it come out like…" Dean hesitates, counting on his fingers and holding them in Cas' face, "…this many months ago?"

"Well, yes." Cas bows his head slightly, suddenly very interested in the bottle in his hand. "But I haven't had much time to myself lately, and neither you nor Daphne like me to read them in front of you."

Dean frowns. "Me I get, but her?"

"She considers them blasphemous," Cas explains.

"What, because of the angel characters?"

"Them, and the ongoing motif of God as the ultimate absent father."

"And here I thought these books were about monsters and crap."

"There are monsters, too," Cas says. "Actually, the more recent books have turned the focus back on them, with the introduction of Purgatory." His brow furrows, eyes turning sad. "I don't really like that plotline. Chuck has me working with the King of Hell behind your back."

"You hussy," Dean deadpans, taking a sip of his beer.

"It was very distressing to read," Cas says earnestly. "You were heartbroken when you learned of my betrayal."

"Could you make us sound any gayer?"

Cas glares at him. "I am being serious."

"So am I!"

Cas huffs and slumps in his seat, a petulant frown on his face. "If you don't want to talk about Chuck's books, that's fine. Just don't make fun of me for being invested in them."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Fine."

They both fall silent. Dean takes another sip of his beer, feeling guilty all of a sudden. Usually he's got no problems making fun of Cas, but not when it leaves that pinched, uncomfortable look on his face. He's about to open his mouth to apologize, when Cas quietly says, "Daphne ended our relationship."

"What?" Dean blurts. "When?"

Cas tugs his sleeve up to glance at his watch. "About thirteen hours ago."

"Hours?" Dean repeats incredulously. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now."

Dean huffs and pinches his lips. He kind of wants to tell Cas 'good riddance', but he knows that's not what Cas wants to hear. Instead, he asks, "Did she tell you why?"

"She…" Cas pauses, and is he _blushing_? "No, she didn't."

He's lying. What Dean doesn't get is why. Is he afraid that Dean's gonna make fun of him? The thought kind of stings, so Dean pushes it aside.

"That sucks, man."

Cas nods sharply, eyes fixed on the table. "Can we go back to the motel?"

"Sure."

* * *

It takes them twice as long as it should to get to the motel. They get lost twice on the way, and they have to stop once for five minutes while Cas dry heaves in some bushes. He didn't have any more to drink that Dean, but the poor guy really can't hold his alcohol. Thankfully, nothing comes up.

By the time they finally get to their room, they're both all but dead on their feet. Dean strips off his boots, jacket, and jeans, and crawls into bed. He's about ready to pass out for a week, but he's gotta make do with five hours before they need to be up and back on the road again.

"Dean."

Dean cranks one eye open. Cas is standing next to his bed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking like a lost little kid.

"Could I…" Cas trails off, but Dean doesn't need him to continue.

He scoots until the left side of the bed is open, an obvious invitation complete with a body-heated warm spot. "C'mere."

Cas smiles, small and grateful, and crawls in next to him. Dean reaches out without second thought and pulls Cas close. Cas burrows his nose in his neck, sighing softly. They're pressed close, from head to toe, aside from a respectable few inches between their crotches. Dean closes his eyes again and wills himself not to read too much into it. If Cas had ever wanted him like that, he would have done something about it already.

Like, say, twelve years ago.

* * *

_Kansas University_

_2000_

Dean still doesn't know what Cas is planning to do after graduation.

It bothers him more than it probably should, but he can't help it. What if Cas' plans take him outside of Kansas? What if he wants to move half-way across the country, like Sam is planning on? What if in a couple of months that's it, and Dean is never going to see him again?

The thought of never seeing Cas again scares the living shit out of him, but he's not sure how to deal with it. A part of him wants to just tell Cas about his stupid crush already but there's still the chance that he _won't_ be losing contact with Cas forever come graduation, so a bigger part of him would rather not risk it.

And that's the thing – _he doesn't know_. Cas won't tell him what his plans after graduation are, won't answer no matter how many times Dean asks. It's killing Dean, this not knowing, and it's making it even harder for him to keep his feelings in check. If Cas is staying in Kansas, then great, but if he isn't, then what does Dean have to lose by telling him everything?

Weirdly enough, it's Meg Masters who provides Dean with the perfect opportunity to find out.

Cas and Meg have been friends for almost as long as Cas and Dean. Mostly their friendship consists of Meg aggressively flirting with Cas and dragging him out for drinks, and Cas putting on a frown that Dean knows is all for show. He likes her, possibly in a more-than-friends capacity, which Dean tries not to think too much about. All that matters right now is that Meg is inviting both of them to one last college mixer before finals, which means Cas will get drunk, which means he'll get chatty. Chatty enough to tell Dean everything.

Only, not so much. Dean keeps a careful eye on Cas throughout the evening and Cas is never without a drink in his hand, but near as Dean can tell, it's always the same drink.

Finally, fed up with waiting and well past tipsy, Dean manages to push his insecurities and hang-ups aside for long enough corner Cas in the hallway in front of the bathroom.

"Did you want to go next?" Cas asks when he sees Dean approaching, pointing at the closed bathroom door.

Dean shakes his head. "No. I wanted…" he pauses. He isn't completely sure what he wanted. To demand Cas spill, or to spill his own secrets? It isn't like Cas is any more likely to talk now than he was yesterday, he's just as sober as ever for some reason.

So Dean will spill, and this whole agonizing dance will be over.

"I wanted," he repeats, "I wanted you."

Then, because it seems like a good idea, and because Cas is leaning so nicely against the wall, all ready for him, Dean leans in and kisses him. For exactly five seconds, he gets to feel Cas' chapped lips under his own, gets to press himself against him like he's been wanting since freshman year.

And then Cas is pushing him away.

"Dean," he says, voice even hoarser than normal. "I can't do this. I can't be this person for you."

Dean blinks. It takes a moment for Cas' words to sink in but when they do, they hit him like a punch to the gut.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Cas wasn't supposed to tell him no.

"It's fine," he says, but it doesn't feel like he's the one who's talking. It's like he's watching the scene unfold from across the room. He's numb but he knows it's just a matter of time before the pain and the embarrassment set in, so he quickly backs away from Cas. "Hey, no problem. We're still friends, right?"

Cas is staring at him with those big, sad eyes, and it's killing Dean more than anything. He doesn't want pity, least of all from Cas. "Of course we are."

Dean isn't really aware of what happens next, other than that he stumbles further into the hallway, until he finds Meg's bedroom. When he opens the door, he's greeted by an earthy, heavy scent. Someone is already there, sitting by the desk, smoking. It's some weedy little dude Dean vaguely remembers seeing before.

"Hey, man," the guys says. He holds out his joint. "Want some?"

Dean shuts the door behind him, grateful for the distraction. "Sure. Thanks."

"No problem, I got way too much of this stuff left. My roommate dropped out a couple of weeks ago, let me keep the rest of his stash. Said it'd be too much of a hassle to try and cross the border with it."

"Awesome." Dean accepts the joint and takes a long drag. He can at least keep himself numb for a little while longer. "Who was your roommate?"

"Andy Gallagher."

Dean frowns. He knows Andy, which means he's definitely seen this guy around before. "Right. What's your name again?"

"Chuck. Chuck Shurley."


End file.
